


All is Well

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sorry," John says.  "I still haven't acclimated to Sherlock-Standard-Time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All is Well

John comes in late Saturday evening to find Sherlock stretched out on the sofa, head tipped back. His hands are clasped over his stomach and his chest rises and falls in smooth, measured breaths.

“I made tea,” he says, without looking round.

John drops his coat onto the easy chair and reaches for the mug sitting beside his laptop. “It’s cold.”

“Of course it’s cold. I made if five hours ago.”

“I wasn’t even—.” John stops himself. They’ve had this exchange so many times he’s lost count.

“Sorry,” he says, a bit irately, picking up the mug and heading for the collection of dishes on the coffee table that has grown to such proportions it’s beginning to look like modern art. “Still haven’t acclimated to Sherlock-Standard-Time.”

Sherlock doesn’t respond, but his lips curl up at the corners. John picks up as many dishes as he can carry and deposits them in the sink, coming back for more. Sherlock catches his wrist as he reaches for a saucer.

“Sherlock.” John tugs against his grip. “Let go.”

Sherlock’s eyes are closed. He’s wearing a gold and red embroidered robe that John has never seen before. It looks more like a sultan’s robe than a dressing gown. In fact, John wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gotten it from an actual sultan.

“Sherlock—.”

Pale fingers trace a light path over John’s wrist, scratch out a rhythm across the calluses on his palms.

“Sherlock,” John says, more urgently. “Open your eyes.”

He’s surprised to find himself immediately obeyed. Sherlock’s eyes are shiny and even in the dim flat his pupils look enormous, black swallowing the color.

“You’re high.” Sherlock’s hands have begun to sweat and with a sharp tug John manages to slither out of his grasp. “What did you take?” John pulls the heavy sleeves of the dressing gown up, but the skin there is smooth and bare. “Tell me, Sherlock. I need to know whether I should call an ambulance—.”

“Oh, stop.” Even half-conscious, Sherlock can work up more derision than a room full of pensioners. “I’m fine. Besides, I’ve got my doctor right here, haven’t I?” Regardless, his eyes flick to a small plastic bottle on the coffee table. John snatches it up, shaking it briefly to confirm that it’s empty.

“What was in this? Sherlock!” His eyes have slipped shut again.

“I’m alright,” Sherlock repeats. “Stop shouting.”

“I should call Mycroft. Get _him_ to shout at you.”

Sherlock’s eyes open a crack. “You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

The clock on the mantelpiece ticks away the seconds as neither of them moves. John lets out a frustrated breath and picks up Sherlock’s hand again. His pulse is steady enough and his breathing is regular.

“Budge up, then.”

“What?”

“You won’t tell me what you’ve taken, you won’t go to a hospital, fine. I’m sitting here.” He sits, pushing Sherlock’s legs out of the way.

“Thanks, Nanny.”

“The telly’s here,” John shrugs, flipping it on. “It’s not as if I wouldn’t be here anyway.”

Sherlock stares at him a few seconds more, before dropping back down against the cushions. “Whatever you like.” He closes his eyes, and after a few moments his breathing levels out again.

A phone rings a few rooms away, and he can hear the shriek of the kettle in the flat next door. Sherlock says something about toast in a sleepy murmur that may or may not be feigned. John rolls his eyes and flips on the television.

Twelve o’clock and all is well.

**Author's Note:**

> The internet is really spotty where I am, so I've only seen about half of the Reichenbach fall. I feel all twitchy, like addict.


End file.
